A couple of older boys are brave enough to come near us. A man comes out from among the huts and walks towards us. He greets us. We quickly explain our presence. We explain that we are Kenyans who have chosen to spend our holidays visiting fellow Kenyans. We say that we would love to see their village, spend some time with them, and if possible visit their sacred shrines.
The man is friendly. He is so friendly, that it immediately puts me at ease, and I immediately feel at home. It turns out two Kenyan bikers had paid them a visit months back. The man gives us his memory of the legendary motorcycle tourers John Kimathi Kithinji and Richard Ojany. He even remembers their names. I’m so grateful for these bikers that have gone before us, and put in a good name and image for any strange wanderer who may show up upon this village on a motorcycle. Asanteni.
Bendera welcomes us, and tells us yes, we can visit the village. And yes, we can visit the sacred shrines. He tells us to park our bikes near the colourful building. Your stuff will be safe there, he says.
A big crowd is gathered now, watching us curiously, studying our every move. We have to remove our riding gear and leave them on the motorbikes. I remove my jacket and helmet. It’s now time to remove my riding pants with the whole world watching. I wrap a kikoi around my waist and start removing the pants. My kikoi slips and falls, I’m bent over and displaying my boxered tushi to the whole world watching. I expect gasps and laughter from the children, but none come. They seem to even be wondering why I’m looking around sheepishly and making such a dash for my fallen kikoi. Tushis out, it seems, is normal here.
We ask if we can have some food later. Bendera informs us that we have to make an order. He advises us to make the order before we take the boat to the island with the sacred shrines. The food will be ready by the time we come back. We order four fish and ugali. There’s no other option, really. We just ordered the whole menu.
We walk through the village towards the boats. The children follow us. Some men follow us. The really little children and women peer at us curiously from around the huts. There’s lots of fish drying in the sun. There’s some unfinished structures. Their huts are a display of deft doum palm weaving.
We head on down to the shore to get a boat to take us to Lorian Island, where the sacred shrines are. A quick negotiation, and we are on our way, with our guide, Bendera, and a couple of other lads.
In a moment we are on our way. The boat’s engine is new, it runs smooth, and is powerful with thrilling acceleration. The coxswain lets it rip a couple of times for our sheer excitement.
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